The Truth behind the Lobster Tank
by mywildimagination
Summary: Percy finally tells Paul about his mythological adventures. Also a Thanksgiving celebration oneshot. Please R&R.


I suppose I should explain why we were at the supermarket the day after Thanksgiving.

Well, Paul had Thanksgiving with me and my mom, seeing as they'd gotten engaged two months ago. The food was great, most of it blue (we'd tried to dye the turkey blue a couple years back, but, ah, it didn't turn out so good). Annabeth was visiting, and Grover had gotten leave from Chiron to come up to Manhattan.

This year we had a copious supply of blueberry pie. So, the day after Thanksgiving, we still had some left (though not if Tyson had been here, he'd gone back to his internship underwater). Unfortunately, we had no vanilla ice cream. Annabeth and Mom were willing to go without, but Paul, Grover, and I took a stand on it and I went with Paul to get some.

We walked thorough the baked good section on out way to frozen dairy. As we ran through the aisles (we were in a bit of a hurry), I heard something nobody else did.

_Son of the Sea God! _it cried. _Please!_ _Please free us . . . sir._

_Hold on,_ I thought, turning towards the sound of the voice. Horses at the supermarket? Nothing else could talk to me this way.

That's when I saw the lobster tank.

_Please get us out of here! _The crustaceans were climbing on top of each other, trying to get on the side of the tank closest to me, which was pretty hard, because they were squeezed together in there, in total violation of each other's personal bubbles. Ha ha, bubbles, get it? (A/N: Your jokes are terrible, Percy.)

Anyway, it really upset me to see them locked up in there, rubber bands on their claws and probably on sale. Seafood on Thanksgiving! Gag me and throw me into Tartarus.

"C'mon, Percy!" Paul called, ten steps ahead of me. I scowled at the lobster tank and followed him.

We got over to the frozen dairy section, grabbed the ice cream, and made for the cash register.

"Crap," he muttered under his breath. "Dropped my keys."

And he turned around and bent over to pick them up.

_Please, lord! _The lobster tank was not far off. _Please, lord, free us!_

These guys were desperate, and, with ADHD and all, I couldn't keep myself from pushing the water in the tank to its walls and . . .making it explode.

_BOOM!!_

I bent over and pretended to help Paul find his keys as glass splattered everywhere.

"What - ?" He was standing up now, putting his keys in his pocket and staring at the mess before him.

"Get the lobsters!" a store employee cried.

_Oh, no, you don't!_ I sent out a spray of water, and everyone in red uniforms was coughing and spluttering. _Evil crustacean murderers! You don't mess with a son of Poseidon! Ever!_

"That was weird," Paul commented. "The water seemed to pick up off the ground and spray them . . . "

I nervously watched the lobsters make their way east, towards the sea. Now was usually the the time when people realized I was there and found a way to blame me, so I figured we'd better get out fast.

"Um, Paul?"

"Yeah?" he answered, eyes still on the remnants of the lobster tank.

"Could we go now?" I asked urgently.

He studied my face a moment, then said, "Sure." We paid for the ice cream and walked out to the car.

There was an awkward silence as he pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the street. Then I sighed. I might as well tell him now. It was as good a chance as any, and I'd really procrastinated too long.

"That was me back there," I told him.

"What was you?" he asked, eyes on the road.

"The lobster tank thing. I made it explode."

He looked at me quizzically. "You were standing right next to me when it exploded. Twenty feet away."

"I know," I said.

"You couldn't have touched it."

"I don't have to," I told him.

"How did you do it, then?" Paul asked.

I sighed again. "I can control water. I just pressured the water against the side of the tank until it shattered."

He stared at me as though I were playing some weird joke on him. "Suppose you _did_ control water, how does that happen?"

"I get it from my dad."

His face darkened. "Your dad?"

I took a deep breath. "The Sea God," I told him.

I noticed his grip on the steering wheel tighten. "Poseidon? But that was just his name . . . "

"That's . . . who he is," I supplied carefully.

"So, you're telling me that he's real."

"You _did_ meet him," I said. "You missed the turn."

"Oh, right," Paul answered, turning around at another intersection. "So, you're saying that the man I met, that you said was your father, is a god."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"It's _all_ real, then? Greek mythology."

"Yeah."

He let out a long, low whistle. Then he smirked a bit. "That is actually . . . pretty cool."

I jumped about an inch off my seat. "What? But . . . I only just told you . . . "

"I trust you, Percy," he said truthfully. "And I know your jokes aren't _that_ weird."

"I _wish_ it was a weird joke," I said wistfully.

Paul looked at me sympathetically. "Do you, really?"

I looked out the window. "Don't get me wrong, being a son of Poseidon is cool and all, but it's hard. Monsters like . . . like those cheerleaders at Goode last summer. Things that are just weird. I didn't ask to be a half-blood, you know."

His face grew longer. "What _did_ happen last summer?"

I spilled everything. I told him about Camp Half-Blood, about my dad's oath, about Kronos. I told him about the prophecy, about my quests, and about my messed-up, immortal, extended family. He just listened, nodded, and asked questions at the right intervals. I could tell he believed me more and more with every word. That gave me confidence.

We were starting to get into a discussion about Greek mythology in general, and Paul was telling me about how he was really into it as a teenager, as we pulled in to my apartment. Mom, Annabeth, and Grover were already waiting for us outside.

"You've been gone for nearly an hour," Grover said, half-apalled and half-anxious. "Did you get the ice cream?"

"Um, yeah," I said.

"We've been worried sick!" Mom cried sternly.

"What's taken you so long?" Annabeth asked, frowning.

"Um, the lobster tank kind of . . . exploded," I mumbled.

"_Di immortales_, Seaweed Brain! We can't even leave you alone for five minutes!"

"They were desperate!" I yelled, waving my hands up in the air. "You try being locked up in a supermarket with annoying, desperate lobsters in captivity, watching mortals picking them up like KFC!"

Grover looked as though he'd lost his reed pipes. "He _does_ have a point, you know, Annabeth."

She rolled her eyes. "_Erre es korakas_, goat boy."

"Goat boy?" Paul asked curiously. Annabeth turned bright red. "Oh, right. Grover is a satyr."

"Percy told you?" Mom asked him.

"Yes," he replied airily.

There was an awkward silence.

"Um," said Grover timidly, "who's up for blueberry pie?"

Everybody nodded and we all filed inside.


End file.
